Yule
by AliasPseudo
Summary: No one should spend Christmas alone. One shot, 2x5.


**Yule**

by APs

**A/N** – So, this wasn't so much a 'for Christmas' fic as a 'from Christmas' one. It was prompted by the prospect of spending a Christmas alone (which didn't happen, but it was close). This was a quickie, so no beta.

Season's Greetings and Happy New Year!

Enjoy! Reviews are always good gifts!

* * *

It was about half past really fucking late and I was standing in the street, staring at his house as the steam I was breathing thinned and I tried not to shiver like a newborn kitten. It was dark the way only a city at night after a big snowfall can be, which is to say not at all. It's surreal, everything being so crisp and distinct with the dark sky behind it. Reminded me of space, if I didn't think too hard about the comparison. I couldn't feel my fingers or toes anymore by the time I decided I was actually going to knock on that door. I shifted, forcing my blood to start flowing again as I waited. The house was dark, had been when I showed up, which was the main reason I'd been glaring from the curb for so long. I knocked again and started thinking about the possibility he wouldn't answer. Breaking in, though easily possible, was about the stupidest idea I could imagine. You know, short of blowing the place up, or something, which I'd also contemplated briefly, if only as a bad joke. I was beginning to get down to a real plan of action when he opened to door, scowling.

I plastered the 'I'm-probably-getting-shot-for-this' smile onto my numb face.

"Maxwell," he sighed in what could arguably be considered greeting. He rubbed a hand over his face, waving away the strands of black hair that had fallen loose of his unusually messy ponytail. No one should look that good when rumpled, damn sure I don't. For a terrifying second, I thought I may have been wrong and I'd just woken a very dangerous guy from a very sound sleep, almost as bad an idea as breaking in. Then, he looked at me, probably due to my complete lack of sound, and I caught the bags under his bloodshot, black as coal eyes as he arched an eyebrow at me.

"Hey, partner," I started with the obvious, light and friendly, "I thought we could both do with a little company."

He stared at me like I was an idiot, though that probably wasn't what he was thinking. We'd been partners for six months, after he found me in a dive on L2 (going back had turned out to be a terrible idea, who knew) and recruited me for Preventers. If there's one thing I'd learned about Chang Wufei, other than his preference for having his names backwards (yeah, yeah, it's a cultural thing, I get it), it's that he rarely kept his thoughts to himself, criticism or compliment. Generally, he only held back the incomplete or inappropriate and I couldn't help wondering which was spinning through his head. Instead, he simply moved out of the way so I could enter.

Now, I had been to Wufei's house a grand total of once before, when he'd been wounded on a mission and I had dropped him off. It wasn't that I wasn't welcome; in fact the big guy himself had extended an open invitation. I just figured that if he was nice enough to offer, I could be nice enough not to impose on the formality. It was a big place, though not Quatre big and I got the feeling that Wufei found it modest, much like how he furnished, tasteful and understated, yet quality all the way. I, on the other hand, still had issues justifying my two bedroom apartment (though I could certainly afford something bigger on what the Preventers pay). In the sharp shadows of winter night, the place seemed cozier, warm after the icebox outside with the lingering aroma of tea and incense.

"Take off your boots," Wufei directed in a soft murmur after securing the door behind me. There was a strange finality in the lock's scraping and all I could do was nod as I undid my laces, stepping out onto soft carpet in thick wool socks. He was already ghosting through the kitchen door, so I followed.  
He was rummaging in a cabinet when I entered and asked without looking, "Would you like some tea?"

"Got anything a little stronger?" I joked to be brought up short when he set two glasses and a bottle of good whiskey between us on the butcher block.

"A bit," he agreed as he poured, rather liberally, and swigged like someone friendly with a bottle. I gaped. To my knowledge, Chang Wufei didn't drink, didn't even think about drinking, and certainly didn't drink enough to hide a bottle of whiskey in his house. Not to mention, we were both seventeen (a year under the legal limit) and law enforcement officers. I must have looked like an utter jackass, because Wufei laughed.

I muttered a 'thanks' into the glass as I sipped and was instantly warmed from the inside out. It was good stuff, smooth, classy.

"If you wanted company, why didn't you take Winner's invitation?" It was a calm, low query, supposedly not implying anything.

I shrugged like an asshole, "Same reason you didn't."

Quatre had offered to fly us to L4 for a big reunion. Despite having thoroughly disinherited himself, Quatre Raberba Winner was still and would always be the golden boy and baby brother of one of the most powerful, influential, and wealthy families in the Earth Sphere. It was enough to ensure he'd never be out of a job and enough to sway his CEO sister to sponsor a holiday charity tour (specifically for war orphans) of a certain circus. That day's performance was arranged to be on L4, the cast was invited to a Winner family after party. It was too big, too many people, or rather, too many happy people. This anniversary had meaning to us, real meaning, and it wasn't something we could really share. Besides, Quatre's reunion would undoubtedly be fine without us. Wufei just nodded, taking another drink.  
I followed suit and realized I was still wearing my coat and hat. I snatched off the knit cap, ruffled my bangs, and unzipped my coat while barking out a laugh.

"Decided to stay?" Wufei was using his humorous tone, dry and smooth.

I grinned, raising my glass, "Well, your taste in whiskey's not that bad."

"I know," he smirked and poured another round.

I was fingering the lump in my coat, arguing with myself. With one last swallow to burn the butterflies from my stomach, I produced the small brown paper wrapped package and tossed it at my partner, "Here. Merry Christmas."

Wufei seemed surprised, though he made the catch with a graceful easy, "A present?"

"It is Christmas," I countered, which it was. Two years after the War, one year after Mariemaia, and six months after Wufei had pulled me out of a crappy, borderline legal job on L2.

"For me?" he was glancing at me sidelong, skeptical.

There was a crumpled tag in my pocket that had, until recently, been taped to that package and I was fairly certain Wufei knew just as surely as I did myself that it didn't have his name on it. I hadn't seen the guy the name belonged to in a year, hide nor hair as the saying goes, and I'd been an idiot to expect otherwise. I stripped my coat off and let it drape over the back of my chair, taking a long pull from my glass, "I gave it to you, didn't I."

He placed it between us, next to the bottle, and looked at me a little more seriously than I felt was warranted, "This is not necessary."

"It's a gift, Wufei." I was realizing he probably didn't observe the holiday and not giving a shit.

He shifted in his chair and frowned, "I don't have anything for you."

"Don't worry about it," I waved it off, absently wondering if the thought put into a gift transfers if you end up giving it to someone else. I shook my head, which was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, "So, what were you doing before I interrupted? Meditating?"

"Praying," he corrected softly and washed it down with whiskey. We were down a half bottle by then.

"Yeah?" I managed to stop myself short of asking about what; it wasn't like any of us were lacking in reasons to pray, guidance, strength, forgiveness. On my one previous visit, I had helped get him to bed and caught a glimpse of what he'd explained was a shrine to his ancestors. He nodded and I leaned forward, "Can you show me?"

His gaze sharpened for a long moment before he stood and motioned for me to follow, taking the bottle and leaving my present. Inside the second spare room was a small altar with candles and smoldering incense, but it was the tablets lining the walls that hit me. Each tablet was a list of names and dates. There were well over fifty of them. These were his ancestors, his family, clan. They were all named from memory; they were all dead. Wufei had abandoned his glass, taking shots from the bottle against the doorframe while I stood in the middle of the room.

"Is Heero on one of these?"

He glares at me, but his voice is still frustratingly smooth, "To my knowledge, Yuy isn't dead."

"To our knowledge," I parroted, stealing the bottle and taking a good pull. He snorted and I closed the door as I watched him walk away from me. I leaned back against it and wondered what had possessed me to bring up Heero.

"We could find him," Wufei was there, a few steps down the hall, watching me when I'd opened my eyes. His skin had a light flush, from the alcohol, probably, but his eyes were sharp, his stance unconsciously solid. He looked like he was fifty rounds into the worst fight of his life, standing there in his loose tank top and silk pants, waiting. Chang Wufei was there, not empathetic Quatre, or understanding Trowa, or even curious, confused, willing to do anything Heero. Wufei was there, waiting, had made himself available, had even dragged my ass out of a potentially bad situation, and wouldn't vanish quietly without a fight. Chang Wufei had a debt to pay to society, he had honor, he wouldn't tap out in round fifty, or five hundred. He wouldn't run, wouldn't budge. He'd be right there.

I laughed like it was a joke, a damn funny one, too, and drank deep so I could close my eyes. He was standing in front of me when I looked again, still waiting, unspoken thoughts weighing him down, incomplete or inappropriate. I still couldn't tell. Grinning, I dragged my forearm across my mouth, "What?"

One hot, calloused hand grabbed my shoulder while the other snaked around my neck, guiding my lips to his. The world stopped. I could feel the soft carpet under my feet, the cool door at my back with all its ghosts sealed behind it, and Wufei hot against me. He smelled like sweat and incense. He tasted like earth and liquor. Time started, my eyes closed, and I heard the thud of the bottle that had slipped from my hand. We were both panting when he stepped back.

We stared at each other. I was trying to speak, but the thoughts simply weren't there. Wufei didn't smile, or move, or look away. He was just there, real and waiting, "Merry Christmas."


End file.
